


Spare Me Your Judgements

by Glittering_Darmallon



Series: The Sky Above Us Shoots To Kill [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: The Wrath of Heaven, Gen, Mostly Canon Compliant, Rowan Trevelyan - Freeform, Sarcastic Inquisitor, Warrior Trevelyan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 05:32:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13697871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glittering_Darmallon/pseuds/Glittering_Darmallon
Summary: Lt. Rowan Trevelyan wasn't sure what he expected when he took his sister's place at the Holy Conclave, but waking up a prisoner accused of mass murder was not it. He should have just stayed in Wycome.





	Spare Me Your Judgements

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in this fandom, and this is part of a longer series. Title from Mumford and Sons' "Thistle and Weeds"
> 
>  
> 
> [Insert compulsory disclaimer here that I don't own Dragon Age and all that jazz]  
> Go here [X](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1q4zw7UGM6rKz4igMzG1wnK2OHmwZ4Td-/view?usp=sharing%22) to see Rowan in all his ginger glory

Rowan's head pounded, and the steady drip, drip, drip from somewhere in the room was doing him no favors. Where was- No, how did he- Why- His mind swam with dozens of questions. Yet despite his confusion, and the woman yelling accusations at him that he killed everyone at the Conclave and demanding to know why she shouldn't just kill him where he sat, all he could focus on was that Maker damned dripping!

On some level, Rowan knew he should care what this woman, his _captor_ was saying, but he couldn’t bring himself to listen to anything she said. For one, not a lick of it made any sense. What explosion was she talking about? The Conclave wasn’t a warzone; it was a confab. Secondly, no matter what she told him next, he knew his answer would be the same.

“Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

And _there_ it was. Whatever had turned the Conclave from a negotiation into well, whatever the hell it was now, clearly he was all that remained. He took a moment to breathe a sigh of relief that he’d attended in his older sister’s stead. She'd likely be dead otherwise. Not that he had any choice in the matter. Much like his whole life up until he hightailed it out of Ostwick, his choices were made for him, and he was volunteered for the task. _Thanks, Mother. I appreciate your continued investment in my life path to make sure I don't embarrass you._  When he remained tight-lipped, the woman grabbed his left arm and held it up.

“Explain _this_!”

Rowan stared at the sickly green glow emanating from his palm. It looked as though someone had cut into his hand and crammed it full with some magical...glowing shit. Hell, they probably had. The sight was nauseating. Now he wanted to say that he hadn’t a clue what happened to his hand. However, once the mages rebelled and everything fell to shit sending chaos not only across the Marches but Thedas as well, his Captain had insisted they all go through interrogation training. “Funny. You don’t look like someone with the stomach for torture. It's my first time; be gentle.”

“How dare you!”

The force with which she shook him made his shackles clang and clatter in the near silence of the dungeon. Anything was better than that deafening drip.

“We need him, Cassandra,” he heard another woman say.

Well ‘need him’ was just a more polite way of saying, ‘Make him talk'; every soldier knew that. The fact was enough to shut down any further response or bit of cooperation he _may_ have offered. “Rowan Trevelyan, Second Lieutenant and Outside Lancer, Free Marches Hussars Fifth Company. Rowan Trevelyan, Second Lieutenant, Outside Lancer, Free Marches Hussars Fifth Company,” and he kept repeating this like a mantra, drawing strength from Captain Albirio’s insistence that should they ever be captured by enemy soldiers, hold out as long as you can and give them nothing useful. “Rowan Trevelyan, Second Lieutenant, Outside Lancer, Free Marches Hussars Fifth Company.”

“Do you know where you are?” the woman...the Orlesian, asked. He opened his mouth and started rattling off his name and rank again, but she stopped him. “We are not here to torture you for information. Whatever that is on your hand, I assure you _we_ did not put it there.”

“Well, you’ll excuse me if I don’t believe you then, because nothing this situation begs for me to trust you. I’ll tell you what I was doing at the Conclave, beyond that... I have no answers for you. I was to attend by personal invitation. Ostwick’s Revered Mother desired a representative from the family of her most ardent supporters. That would be my family, in case you were wondering. Why me specifically? Most likely my mother’s way of getting me back on the family leash.  Believe me, I was perfectly happy holding siege in Wycome’s harbor against an aggressive cell of slavers. In fact, can I go back? If not, please inform my Captain that I have not deserted my position.”

“We’ll send a raven. Now, do you remember where you are? How this began?” the Orlesian asked.

It was in that moment that he became aware of just parched he was. “Water first.” Thankfully, she obliged, and he told her everything he knew, which was next to nothing. It didn’t take long for the other one--Cassandra he seemed to remember the Orlesian calling her--to yank him to his feet and tell her associate they’d meet her at the forward camp.

He supposed he should feel insulted at the faces of disgust amongst the people as he passed them, especially when Cassandra informed him that everyone assumed he was responsible for the death of The Divine. Instead of an appropriate reaction, he felt smug, smug because when he thought of his mother’s face as she learned of these events, an absolute horrified expression would surely paint her features. She’d be positively aghast that her youngest child would bring so great a shame to a pious family such as theirs.

To his surprise though, once outside the gate, Cassandra unbound his hands and then so matter-of-factly announced the mark on his hand was killing him.

"Oh is that all?

"I see your sense of self-preservation is not as strong as your sense of humor."

To his even greater surprise, he actually volunteered to help. After being imprisoned no less! Surely, this must have been a great cosmic joke.

They pressed on until another jolt of pain exploded from his hand. Despite their words, Rowan was having a hard time believing this was not a product of torture. True or not, Cassandra helped him to his feet, much gentler this time, than the first. “How did I survive the blast?”

“They say you stepped out of a rift and then fell unconscious.”

He couldn’t have stopped the disbelieving chuckle that escaped his throat if he tried. “Yeah, I call nugshit on that. I don’t even believe it, and _I’m_ the one it supposedly happened to.”

“You and me, both.”

Beneath their feet, the stones of the bridge rumbled and gave way, taking them down with it.

“Get behind me!”

Did she honestly expect him to stand back, unarmed, and simply hope she defeated the demons alone? What if there were mor- A green glow, similar to the one on his hand, erupted from the frozen river, and from the chasm below the hole, Rowan could see the head of a demon coming forth. He really should learn to just quit thinking sometimes. To his left, he found a broadsword and the saddest excuse for a shield he’d seen since his training days.

 _It will have to do. Odds would be better if I were on mount._ \- he thought while he stood ready. The last three years of fighting splintered groups of mages and Templars had given him enough experience in killing demons, and he dispatched the beast as quickly as he was able. Thing went down a lot easier than darkspawn did.

“Drop your weapon!” Cassandra pointed her sword at his throat.

“You mean to tell me you would rather fight these things alone than accept help from a soldier with years of combat experience? All because I _might_ be guilty? Fine. Have it your way.”

“Wait. I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to be defenseless. I should remember you agreed to come willingly.”

“Where are all your soldiers?”

“At the forward camp or fighting. We are on our own for now.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing your prisoner isn’t a sheltered chantry brother with over a decade of scribe experience isn’t it?” Rowan tried for levity, but was sure his attempt was lost on her.

“Yes. How lucky for me. Clearly the Maker has a sense of humor." 

His only response was to offer her a half-assed salute and tell her to lead the way.

  
  
  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [Tumblr](https://glittering-darmallon.tumblr.com/) ; it's a new blog and I don't bite.


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